


As Luck Would Have It

by EtLaBete



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Contemplative Hanzo Shimada, Developing Friendships, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Jesse McCree needs a hug, Light Angst, M/M, Overwatch Recall, Plot, Requited Unrequited Love, Reunions, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtLaBete/pseuds/EtLaBete
Summary: Jesse McCree prides himself on his observational skills, but everyone's got a blindspot, and Jesse's is... well, his own damned self. So, as luck would have it, he finds himself the owner of feelings he doesn't want, with unprecedented circumstances he isn't sure how to handle, in the middle of a Recall he never asked for.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 18
Kudos: 101





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> After nearly three years of fanfic hiatus, I have returned. *throws confetti.*

Jesse likes to watch him. 

He isn’t able to do it often. When they’re paired up out in the field, he doesn’t have the luxury because as much as he likes to put on a show, he isn’t keen on getting himself or anyone else killed, and more often than not these days, they’re operating without sanction from local law enforcement, which means he has to be extra careful to mind his surroundings. 

When he’s participating in simulations back on base, he’s far too concerned with competition. He and Genji have a weekly bet going for most sim kills and Jesse McCree knows how to prioritize. He isn’t about to lose to the snarky ninja just so he can ogle a nice pair of legs. Plus, he’s got too few opportunities to roll out the tricks he isn’t able to utilize often on the field. Are they useful? Sure, sometimes. He can tuck and roll as well as the rest of ‘em, but that’s boring and without the same flourish he can exhibit in training. And, if he’s being honest, maybe he’d admit that he’s trying to get the other man to notice him, and what other way than to act like a right fool. 

It isn’t often that he isn’t on roster for the simulations since their team is still pretty damned small, but when he isn’t and Shimada Hanzo is, boy howdy, does he like to watch.

Shimada’s control — so precise and rigid, like a cat ready to pounce — is astounding, especially to someone like Jesse, who prides himself on his easy manner, even in the battlefield. No one ever said vigilance can’t come with a cocky grin and a pistol-ladened, angled hip. Plus, he’s a damned good shot, and as he makes Winston attest to every time the gorilla comments on his antics, it’s hard to critique his swagger when he gets the job done. 

Shimada, though. Jesse whistles under his breath as he watches the relay in the control room then winces and checks to see if anyone noticed. Winston hums beside him as he types notes furiously to give out to the team later, and Lena squeals when someone just barely incapacitates a bot just before they’re shot. 

“Mei’s improving with her firearm,” she comments.

“Yeah, if by improvin’ you mean she’s finally keepin’ her eyes open when she fires,” Jesse replies with a laugh, turning a bit to eye Mei’s screen. “I’d hope she’d be improvin’. I been spendin’ way too much o’my free time in the gun range with her. I’d be mighty displeased if my hard work was for nothin’.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Not everything’s about you, love.” 

“I beg to differ, darlin’.”

“Will the two of you keep quiet?” Winston grumbles unceremoniously. “You make it hard to concentrate with your constant chatter.”

Lena and Jesse share a grin but say nothing else.

Jesse turns his attention back to the screen focused on Shimada. Winston’s drones are like heat-seeking missiles in simulation, staying with their target so the gorilla can accurately rate their performance, but even they sometimes have trouble catching up with the faster folk. Shimada’s one of them. He isn’t as fast as Genji when the younger Shimada gets going, but the archer scales walls like a goddamned squirrel, and he has no qualms about jumping obscene distances — horizontally and vertically and every which way — if it means making a shot. 

And damn, but he can make a shot. 

It’s really a sight to behold. The way his body arches when he pulls back on his bow string is nothing short of exquisite. He’s a sniper, sure, but Jesse’s never seen a sniper with that kind of mobility before, either on his team or the enemy’s. They learned early on that getting to Widowmaker’s level and chasing after her gave them a much better chance of throwing her off because she needs that steadiness to aim, but that wouldn’t make a damned difference to Shimada. 

Jesse doesn’t think he’s ever looked so poised or graceful as this man in his entire life, and it mesmerizes him. Everything surrounding Jesse McCree’s always been gritty, from his childhood to his time in Overwatch and Blackwatch. Hell, even now, they’re operating under the radar, making due with an old base that’s definitely seen better days. It feels messy, even if what they’re doing is right and the kinks are being worked out, but when Jesse watches Shimada in simulation, he doesn’t think _messy_. No, the bow-touting man is beautiful.

And that doesn’t even account for the damned dragons. He’s only seen them once while on a mission, and even then, it was from quite a distance away. Jesse knows he’ll never forget them, though, even if he doesn’t see them again. He’s seen Genji’s dragon before, of course, plenty of times, but Genji’s dragon stays with him, a silhouette of acidic green boosting his speed and agility so he can devastate his enemies before they even know he’s there. It’s a sight to behind, to be sure, but there’s something different about the elder Shimada’s dragons. They sail through the air like water, enormous, twin phantom serpents glowing an electric blue and sucking the energy from everything around them. When Jesse saw ‘em, power flickered around the city and the air smelled different, like ozone. The scent radiated off of Shimada for the remainder of the day.

Jesse’d pay anything to see his face when he did it. 

“Simulation end,” Winston calls over the loud speaker, tearing Jesse from his reverie. 

One by one, the bots power down and the the participants stand down, acknowledging their assigned drone. Jesse keeps his eyes on Shimada’s screen, watching as he offers a curt nod to his before placing the arrow in his hand back into his quiver. The feed shuts off just as he rolls his neck on his shoulders and simultaneously raises a hand to brush a few strands of hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead away. 

“God have mercy,” Jesse mutters.

Suddenly, Lena’s standing next to him, close enough that their arms are brushing.

“May I be o’service?” he asks, eyeing her without turning his head.

“He’s quite the spry one, ain’t he?” she says, elbowing him suggestively, and Jesse doesn’t have to see her face to know she’s grinning.

He’s saved from replying by the door to the control room opening. Genji stalks in, vizor still in place, and demands, “What is it at now?”

Jesse snorts. This is the last simulation of the week, so the numbers’ll be firm. Going into today, Jesse’d been winning by twenty kills, and it had been driving Genji mad since breakfast. 

Winston just groans. “The data is still populating.”

Genji huffs and turns toward Jesse as the others filter past the open door. Shimada pauses to glance in just as Genji removes his visor. 

“I know you were counting,” the ninja says, ignoring his brother. “I’m winning now, aren’t I? I’m winning and you don’t want to admit it.”

Jesse shrugs noncommittally. “I, ah, wasn’t payin’ attention.” 

Genji narrows his eyes. “You lie poorly, Jesse McCree.”

“Lena here was jabberin’ away the whole time, hard to concentrate. Cross my heart n’ swear t’die, I ain’t sure of the count,” he says, placing his hand over his heart. 

“It’s _hope to die_ ,” Shimada states calmly from the doorway. 

“What?” he and Genji say at the same time, glancing at him. 

“The saying,” Shimada clarifies. “It’s not swear to die, it’s hope to die.” 

Genji throws his hands up. “I don’t care about that, _anija_!”

Jesse smiles, just a slight quirk of his lip. “Apologies for misspeakin’. ”

Shimada gives a non-committal shrug.

“I have the numbers,” Winstons interjects, garnering all of their attention. “Genji is now ahead by two kills for the week.”

“ _Banzai!_ ” Genji exclaims before poking Jesse in the chest, once, twice, three times. “You lose, cowboy. I demand what is owed to me.”

“But,” Winston continues, and it’s obvious he’s trying to keep a smile out of his voice and failing, “we have a new contender who is ahead in first place by three kills.” 

Genji goes still, vents puffing and finger stalled mid-jab to Jesse’s sternum. “Who?”

Lena snorts, most likely as Genji’s strangled tone. 

Jesse already knows and it’s hard to keep his face appropriately devoid of telltale signs. He’d been counting today, adding on to the previous numbers Athena provided when he asked for them in the comfort and solitude of his own quarters. A glance in Shimada’s direction solidifies it. The archer is smirking, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jesse isn’t sure if he’s seen a look like that on Shimada Hanzo before, and he likes it. 

“That would be me,” Shimada says, voice measured, and then his smirk grows ever so slightly until some teeth are bared. “ _Banzai._ ” 

“What!” Genji sputters, stabbing his finger even harder into Jesse’s chest before spinning back towards the console. “Winston, no. He lies.”

“I’m afraid he’s correct. Hanzo wins the kill count for this week.”

Genji looks so affronted Jesse almost laughs out loud, but instead he just bites down on the inside of his cheek and rubs gingerly at the bruise Genji’s robot finger no doubt left on his chest. 

“I demand a recount! There is no way.”

Shimada looks at Jesse while his brother rants and raves. The archer grins at him, a full-blown smile that lights up his whole face and makes him look like a completely different man. Little creases form at the corners of his eyes instead of the creases Jesse normally notices between his brows when he scowls, which is pretty damned often. Jesse just stares, and after a few moments, still grinning, Shimada turns on his heel and is gone, strutting down the hall. 

“I ain’t never seen him smile before,” Jesse mutters, staring after him.

Lena just laughs, an amused but delighted sound that makes Jesse roll his eyes, before she disappears in a flash of blue light.

“I need a drink,” Genji snipes as he walks past Jesse, but not before grabbing his arm to drag him along.

Jesse chuckles and allows himself to be dragged. “You’re a mighty sore loser.” 

The younger Shimada huffs dejectedly. “Hanzo always won when we were children. Bow, sword, shuriken, staff. Even times that we nearly tied, he would land a hit on me or the center of the target at the last moment. I think he did it to torment me. Giving me some false sense of victory before taking it away.”

“Sounds like somethin’ a brother would do,” Jesse muses, “ especially seein’ how ya react when you lose. S’a bit funny, if I’m bein’ honest.” 

“I don’t know if Hanzo ever found it funny. He’s always been competitive, and he wanted Father’s approval so badly.” Genji turns the corner toward the canteen, still dragging Jesse along by his sleeve as if the cowboy wouldn’t be wanting a drink. 

“Seems to me like you’re both mighty competitive.” 

“I guess,” Genji grumbles. “I still can’t believe he won.” 

“I bet he’s been aimin’ to since he first heard ‘bout our lil’ competition.”

“You’re probably right. This means war.” 

Jesse raises a brow. “I ain’t sure Overwatch can handle another spat.” He pauses and scratches at his beard. “I ain’t sure the two of you could handle another spat.” 

Genji grins at him over his shoulder. “It’s just good fun.”

“Oh, sure. I believe ya. Pretty sure I heard that before.”

“Nothing will blow up, I promise.”

“Listen here, Genji, my sensitive constitution can’t take more of that kinda business.”

The back and forth continues until they were in the mess where a few of the others were already gathered. Shimada is there, too, talking quietly with Mei, the two of them sitting with steaming cups of tea in front of them. Jesse’d noticed that the archer had taken something of a shining to Mei. He wondered, at first, if he had just given in because Mei was so persistent about wanting to practice her Japanese with someone who took it seriously (she tried it with Genji — it did not go well), but Shimada reserved small, little smiles for her when they spoke, and Shimada didn’t smile much for anyone, even politely. 

Not until this afternoon, anyway. 

“My score was a lot better this time,” she is saying as they approached. “Winston won’t allow me to use my endothermic blaster during the simulations until I hit a certain percentage of accuracy with a side arm.” 

Shimada nods sagely. “It is understandable. I would be happy to help you, if you would like to practice.”

Mei’s face brightens. “That is so sweet of you, Shimada-san! Jesse has been helping me, actually. It’s why I’ve gotten so much better over the last few weeks!”

The two of them both look up at Jesse, so he offers a rakish smile and winks. Mei giggles into her hand, but Shimada just raises a brow, seemingly unimpressed.

“Well, if you would prefer to learn from someone with more skill, I would be happy to lend my services.”

“What in tarnation,” Jesse grumbles, leaning over the table and setting both hands firmly in front of him so he can stare straight into Shimada’s face. “I was just tellin’ your brother not to be such a sore loser, and here y’are, insultin’ me for my trouble.” 

“I only speak the truth,” Shimada deadpans, but the glint in his eye is there, so Jesse waggles his eyebrows playfully. 

“I reckon you mean to start trouble.” 

“I told you he’s like this, Jesse,” Genji interjects, placing a foaming glass of a bitter-smelling beer in between Jesse’s hands. “Give him a centimeter and he’ll take a kilometer.”

“I don’t rightly know the length of a kilometer, but I’m gonna assume it’s a distance,” Jesse says solemnly. 

Shimada’s steadfast exteriors cracks and he laughs. 

Mei looks positively delighted, and Genji immediately starts ribbing his brother both for showing emotion and picking on Jesse, but Jesse just stares at him, mouth slightly open. Six months of curt nods and bows and clipped words and minimal conversation, and then, bam, a smile and a laugh, all in the same day. _I’ll be damned_ , Jesse thinks, warmth creeping up his neck. 

_I’m definitely damned_ , he corrects himself almost immediately, recognizing the the sudden pitter-patter of his pulse, and slides down into his chair. 

He’s still staring when Shimada turns his gaze away from his brother and places it back on the cowboy. The frown on the archer’s face smoothes out and morphs into a look of mild confusion. They stare at each other for several long seconds, Shimada completely still while Jesse swallows nervously. He can’t remember the last time he was in this position, so he doesn’t know what the hell his face looks like, and Shimada doesn’t give enough away. 

_Shitshitshit_ , he thinks eloquently. 

Then Shimada leans forward slightly, frown softening. “McCree-san, what is it?”

“Oh, nothin’,” Jesse drawls, his synapses finally catching up. He slaps a crooked grin back on his face for good measur, because he’s good at smiling in the face of mortal danger. “Just thinkin’ ‘bout how now I gotta beat two Shimadas in weeklies instead of one. Shouldn’t be too hard, I reckon.”

Hanzo doesn’t seem convinced, but Jesse’s saved by Genji elbowing him in the ribcage. “You came in third place, cowboy.” 

Jesse waggles his brows. “I can do a lotta things when I put my mind to it.”

Mei giggles and Genji audibly groans, but Shimada continues to just watch him. 

He’s saved by his favorite skybird as Fareeha suddenly falls into the seat next to him, a water bottle in her hand and sweat plastering her dark hair to her brow. 

“Y’smell ripe, if ya don’t mind me sayin’ so,” he laughs, and after another moment, Hanzo’s attention is blessedly retrieved by Mei.

Jesse audibly sighs in relief before he can help himself. 

“I’ve been watching this entire interaction,” Fareeha says without preamble and then lowers her voice enough that the other voices in the canteen, especially Genji’s, drown her out. “You finally figured it out, eh?”

He doesn’t reply immediately, then said in a measured tone, he says, “Don’t rightly know whatcha mean.”

She scoffs, ignoring his feigned innocence. “Oh, please. It’s obvious to those of us who know what we’re looking at. And for what it’s worth, as someone who’s known you far too long, I think it’s a good thing. Maybe you should tell—“ 

“No.” Jesse clears his throat. “So damned nosy. No tellin’ no one nothin’, ya here? I just figured it out myself, no need to bring him into it.”

“I know you have this whole cowboy persona to keep up,” she mutters, “but you don’t have to be some lone ranger. You deserve to be happy.”

 _Oh god_ , he thinks, _not this conversation_. He hates this conversation. It wasn’t the first time an Amari’d brought it up with him, either. He tries to steer it another way in the hopes that Fareeha would just let it go. “Not sure if you remember the story of the last time coworkers dated in Overwatch, darlin’.”

But Fareeha, she isn’t one to be steered towards anything she doesn’t want. “That’s an excuse. Maybe he likes you. I see him watching you during simulation sometimes, like you do with him.” At Jesse’s dead stare, her lips quirk. “He’s as easy to read as you, when you know what to look for. Easier, actually, because he’s got a lot less to work with in the charm department. But like I said, he does the same.”

Jesse doesn’t believe it for a second, but it still makes him feel antsy in a way he hasn’t felt in a while. He doesn’t like the feeling, not one bit, so he tries to lead the subject away yet again. “Ya know, I don’t remember askin’ for your advice, Amari. You’re just like your Ma - nosy as all hell.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets them. It’s a low-blow, and he knows it. While Genji regularly jokes about his fucked-up family and his brother’s attempt at fratricide, Fareeha never does particularly well when Ana comes up in conversation. She’s still too angry, too devastated to have lost her mother and everything else in the seeming blink of an eye. It hardened her, and she’s a helluva woman, but some wounds never heal quite right. Jesse knows that all too well. 

Except Fareeha doesn’t snap like she usually does. Instead, she shrugs and pins him with a look that can only be described as downright sassy. “Well, someone needs to take care of you. I guess it runs in the family.” 

Jesse bumps elbows with her. “Lucky to have ya, then, I reckon.” 

“I miss her.”

He leans closer. “I know. Me, too. She’d prolly be more wrapped up’n this than you, ‘cause she wasn’t just nosy. She wanted t’do somethin’ about everything. Always had so many goddamned opinions n’such.”

“Oh, I know,” Fareeha says with a sad laugh. “She never wanted me to join Overwatch, you know. Not that I had the chance before everything happened. I sometimes wonder if I should be here, though. It feels like I am disrespecting her memory.”

Jesse snorts, causing Fareeha to glare at him. He grins, though, unperturbed. “Ya kiddin’ me? She’d be over the damned moon. She might notta said so, ‘cause she was stubborn that way, but she’d be proud.”

“Thanks, Jesse.” 

Next to him, Genji leans across the table, telling Mei some ridiculous story from his childhood while Shimada interjects every few moments to correct the retelling. It doesn’t seem like any of them were paying attention to his and Fareeha’s conversation, and he’s happy about that. He’s got too many thoughts swimming around his head to contend with their eavesdropping, too. 

He and Fareeha sit in silence, elbows still touching, while the story unfolds around them. There aren’t many people Jesse can sit in a comfortable quiet with, and most of them that he could were dead or long gone. Something about the heaviness and pervasiveness of silence always makes him uneasy. Fareeha has the same air as her mother, though — she’s confident and the space she occupies screamed _safe_. He isn’t surprised she went into security work, what with the way she carries herself. He’s also glad she decided to answer the call. He’s never felt unsupported on the field with her in the air, watching his back. 

Jesse feels the same way about Shimada, he realizes with something of a sinking feeling. He hasn’t known him long, but there’s something about the archer that settles him — that same sense of security, of protection, which surprises Jesse a bit, considering Shimada’s past actions. He was trying, though, so damned hard. It was plain as day in the way he went along with Genji even if he put up a front and acted like he was being forced. 

Looking at the whole situation now, he knows this was all bound to happen. Jesse always had a penchant for steadfastness, even if he doesn’t exhibit even an ounce of it himself and actively struggled against it for a long time. He’s too old to fight it now, though. He’s lost too much and wasted too much being at odds with the world, so it’s no wonder that months in the company of a man like Shimada, who’s so proper and traditional and desperate for honor, would eventually break down his defenses. 

He’s a sucker for a good redemption arc, after all. 

Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, though, so he’d just have deal with the consequences. Unrequited love never killed anyone, as far as he’s concerned, and everyone benefited from a little bit of heartbreak here and there. _It’s good for the constitution_ , his mama used to say. He can handle it. He’s handled worse losses, and honestly, it isn’t even really a loss because technically, he’s never had anything with Shimada to loose aside from a somewhat tense almost-friendship. His feelings are trapped, like his very own Pandora’s box, and he’s had enough discord and destruction to last him a lifetime. 

“I can basically hear you making excuses, you’re thinking so hard,” Fareeha says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “It smells like something’s burning.”

“I am damned good at makin’ excuses, ain’t I,” he replies and smiles at her before picking up his beer.

Fareeha purses her lips. “Oh, believe me, we all know you are.” 

“We all know you are what?” a silky ninja voice says directly into his ear, close enough that hot air tickles his canal.

Jesse starts and spills the beer on himself in a sputter of foam.

Genji starts cackling like an old woman, like it was the funniest goddamned thing he’s ever seen, and the commotion means everyone stops what they’re doing to look at Jesse, who’s sitting there with a beer-soaked beard and shirt. 

Fareeha laughs, too, in a way they don’t hear often. She’s not quite as reserved as Shimada, but she keeps her cards close to her chest. At first, Jesse doesn’t think it’s funny enough to elicit such a look of delight from the pilot, but then he remembers the time a tiny girl with too-long bangs had asked asked him to lean across the table so she could tell him a secret before blowing into her straw and coating his face and his favorite bandana with soda. 

“What a damned afternoon,” he mutters, unable to stop himself from grinning, and wipes at his face.

“I’ll get you a towel,” Fareeha says, still laughing as she moves to stand, but Jesse just swats at her to keep her in her seat. 

“Don’t worry about it, darlin’. A towel ain’t gonna do jack shit for this mess. I’m just gonna go change into a fresh shirt and maybe throw myself into the sea of Gibraltar for my trouble.”

Genji finally stops laughing, wiping at his eyes. “You’re not off the hook, cowboy. I wanna know what you were talking about.”

“Just ‘bout my good looks, is all,” he says sweetly and swats at his beard to flick some lingering foam at he ninja. 

Genji doesn’t react to the foam, but he does look like he doesn’t believe him, and the distrustful look grows more distrustful when he glances at Fareeha’s face, because she’s rolling her eyes in a very obvious way.

Jesse narrows his eyes and tugs at her hair. “Y’better watch out, Amari, ‘fore those eyeballs fall right outta that pretty lil’ head o’yours.”

“Uh huh,” she replies sardonically.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m gonna bid y’all _sayonara_ and go take care o’this mess.” 

Jesse tips his head and leaves, well aware that Shimada is still watching him as he goes. 

*** 

The comment Fareeha made eats at him just a little bit, though not more than his own realization.

After a few days of rolling the thoughts around in his head, McCree asks Athena to let him know if anyone but Winston pulls up his simulation footage after the fact and to keep his request between the two of them. Athena complies, because the request doesn’t go against any of her security protocols. He’d considered just asking for the control room footage from the days he’s on the training schedule and Hanzo isn’t, but that request would be logged immediately, and he didn’t really want to explain to a perplexed Winston why he needed it. At least this request would only come up if someone was looking for it. 

So, maybe Shimada was doing the same thing he was, rewatching footage of the simulations themselves. It was a long shot, but the worse case scenarios would just reaffirm what Jesse already assumes is true: Shimada Hanzo likely doesn’t give more of a damn about him than he did any other person on the base, bar his brother. 

Jesse goes about his business normally that week while he waits and tries not to think about it. He and Mei spend a lot of time in the shooting range. He participates in his normal share of simulations and works his ass off because he’ll be damned if he loses to Genji again. He tries not to loiter in the control room and watch Shimada when he’s not participating because now he’s paranoid about who notices, and he doesn’t want to hear it from Lena or Fareeha. He sits in on meetings and mission discussions and reads his assigned mission packets and drinks beer in the evenings and whiskey in the late, late evenings and meets their newest member, Hana Song, who immediately sets up a video game tournament. 

At the end of the week, Athena delivers the report.

Jesse is in the shower when he hears the tell-tale beep of an incoming message. He half-ass washes his hair, not noticing until after he turns the water off that he’s still got shampoo clinging to his sideburns, but he just wipes at it roughly with his towel. He doesn’t bother drying off completely, either, just slings the same towel around his waist and walks into his room, feet leaving wet foot-prints on the floor.

“Go ahead n’open that message for me, Athena.”

“Of course, Agent McCree.”

The holoscreen flickers on and data populates on the screen. Winston not included, his footage has been accessed seventeen times in the last seven days, but only by two members. The first is Echo, who has been trying to study his Deadeye again after years of rusting in a container. He assumes she asks for everyone’s footage, though — Athena has no problem confirming this — which makes sense. Practice makes perfect, as Echo likes to say, and she needs to be able to study them to recreate their fighting styles. 

And as luck would have it, the second is Shimada Hanzo.


	2. Two

Jesse isn’t sure what to do with this newfound information.

He knows what he wants it to mean, but he’s learned over the years not to put all his eggs is one basket when it comes to want he wants versus what’s actually plausible because he’s been disappointed one too many times. Coulda, shoulda, woulda — he’s at a point where he prefers knowing that something will go as planned, especially when his job is still like a game of Russian roulette most days. 

_It’s possible_ , he tells himself, and then backtracks. Is it, though? Maybe Shimada Hanzo is like him — some nearly middle-aged man with a lot of skeletons in his closet and enough issues to turn a therapist’s hair white; a man that desperately wants to be accepted, maybe even loved; a man who wouldn’t mind someone to come back to after facing death and destruction on a regular basis. 

Someone to trust unconditionally for once in his damned life. 

Just thinking about it makes him feel nauseous because he’s starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, he in this a lot deeper than he though.

And he’s afraid. Jesse McCree is damned good at putting on a show, but he’s had his heart broken so many times over the years by friends, family, and lovers alike that he isn’t sure how much more he can take. Going back to Overwatch itself was a leap of faith, and for all his charm and swagger, he’s afraid it will all fall apart again.

He sleeps on it, aided by a hefty helping of whiskey, and he feels a bit better the next morning. Enough that he doesn’t think it’ll affect him all that much, because he’s a grown man and it’s not that big of a deal, but then he sees Shimada at breakfast. The archer acts completely normal, which means he’s cordial and mostly keeps to himself as he sips his morning tea. Even so, Jesse finds himself tongue-tied and uncertain. He avoids Genji completely, because the nosy ninja would immediately sense something was going on, so in an attempt to not look like a bumbling, lovestruck fool, Jesse beelines for the counter and pours himself coffee.

He takes a sip, trying to eye Shimada without looking like he is, and forgets to check how fresh and therefore how hot the coffee is. 

The answer is hot. 

He hisses in through his teeth and nearly breaks the mug with his cybernetic hand in an attempt to school his expression, but just as he swipes a bit of coffee away that’s dribbled down his chin, Angela approaches him and the coffee machine, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised. She’s dressed for clinic duty and she looks a vision, just like she does every day. 

“Jesse, are you all right?”

“Havin’ a helluva morning, Angie, but nothing a bitta caffeine won’t fix,” he drawls and toothily smiles. 

“Are you sure you’re not unwell? You look a bit flushed.”

He does his best to play it off. Fareeha already knows, which means Angela’ll know soon enough because the two of them are thick as thieves and can’t keep their damned mouths shut, but he plans to hold on to as much control of the situation as he can for as long as he can. 

“Right as rain, darlin’. Don’t you go worryin’ ‘bout me.”

She purses her lips but reaches around him to grab a mug and begins to pour herself some coffee. “Well, I’ll take your word for it, though god knows what trouble that’s gotten me into before. I’ll be in the clinic all morning if you need anything, however.”

“Clinic hours, eh? Somethin’ goin’ on we don’t know about?”

“Nothing to be worried over. We have two new members joining today, and both will need health screenings so that Winston may get them cleared for active duty.”

Jesse brightens up. “New members, huh? Anyone I know?”

“No one that Overwatch has worked with before. We have a new medic, Lucio Correia dos Santos, and—”

“I asked if it was anyone I knew,” Jesse laughs. “He’s famous, Angie. Plus, Hana’s been playin’ his music full-blast in her room since she got here.” 

Angela gives him a look. “I said no one that you’ve worked with, Jesse McCree, not no one you know. Perhaps you shouldn’t interrupt me when I’m speaking.” 

“Angela, you ask for a miracle,” Genji calls from across the room.

“Mind yer own damned business, Shimada,” he calls playfully and glances past Angela at the other man. He’s now sitting with his brother, who is staring, expressionless, at Jesse. Jesse stares back for a few moment, heart thudding, and then refocuses on Angela even though he’s painfully aware of the attention now. 

“Don’t I know it,” the medic mumbles, oblivious to Jesse’s sudden deer-in-headlights stance, and continues. “With him comes Satya Vaswani. She was a member of the Vishkar Corporation until recently. She and Lucio are traveling together from Rio de Janeiro.” 

Jesse can’t stop both of his eyebrows from shooting up, Shimada forgotten for a blessed moment. “A member of Vishkar, and she’s on her way here with the head of the Rio rebellion? I’d pay a pretty penny t’be on that transport. Is Lena pickin’ ‘em up?”

“Did you say Vishkar?” Genji interrupts, popping up from behind Angela, who jerks slightly but is otherwise used to being startled by the ninja. 

Behind both of them, Shimada stands and leans a hip against the table, listening intently even though he doesn’t interject. 

“Yes, Vishkar. Talon connections in the corporation have come to light recently. From Winston’s comments, it does not sound like Ms. Vaswani has taken too kindly to the news.” Angela’s expression falls a bit. “We are all too familiar with similar such sudden changes.” 

“Guess she’ll fit right in, then,” Jesse muses.

“We shall see.” The medic allows herself a thoughtful sigh and then recovers her smile, because she’s Angela Ziegler and that’s what she does. “Well, I must be off. Winston will announce a time for everyone to convene and meet our new members, I’m sure, when we get confirmation of the transport arrival. We also have some mission logistics to discuss once a few more things are in place, too. Quite a busy day, but Jesse, please come to the medbay if you still feel unwell.”

“Unwell?” Genji questions as Jesse says, “I’m feelin’ fine, Angie, honest.”

Angela walks away, the heels of her shoes clicking rhythmically on the flooring, leaving Jesse standing there with a now perfect temperature cup of coffee and two Shimadas staring at him. 

“Unwell?” Genji repeats. 

Jesse rolls his eyes. “I’m fine,” he says, and then to make it more believable, adds on, “I ain’t sleepin’ well again, s’all. Comes with the territory.”

Genji hums his understanding, because he’s well acquainted with Jesse’s here and there nightmares, but the archer’s eyes narrow. He studies Jesse’s face with a scrutiny that makes Jesse itch. 

“Well, I’m due to meet Mei in the shootin’ range in a bit, so I’m gonna bid ya both g’morning.” 

He tips his hat and scootches past them, but he only gets about halfway to the hallway before he’s stopped by a warm hand catching his wrist. He knows Genji’s grip, and no cybernetics, even perfectly manufactured like Genji’s, can mimic the combination of softness and callouses particular to human skin. 

Gulping, he turns and finds Shimada connected to the hand, just like he figured. Genji is not there, though, thank Christ. He’s already on the other side of the room, leaning over Hana’s shoulder and staring at her handheld gaming system as she talks, presumably about the game, but Jesse wouldn’t know ‘cause his ears are ringing with the sudden spike in his blood pressure. 

Shimada doesn’t speak first, so Jesse hedges with an inquisitive, “Shimada-san?” 

“Tea,” the other man says without preamble. “There are teas meant to calm your body and mind before sleep. I drink them most nights, and they are no cure, but they do help.”

“Tea,” Jesse repeats dumbly. 

“Yes, tea,” Shimada replies, lips quirking. “For your sleeplessness.

“You want me to drink tea with you.”

Shimada tilts his head to the side slightly, studying Jesse’s face. After a moment, he just-barely shrugs. “If that is what you wish. Mostly I just recommend you try the tea.”

“I sure as hell don’t know how to brew tea. Genji can attest to that.”

“I am somehow not surprised,” the archer replies. 

Jesse notices that Shimada still has a grip on his wrist about the same time he thinks the other man notices, because Shimada glances down at his hand, eyebrows furrowing, and then lets go. Jesse can’t read the expression on his face but it’s fleeting, like most expressions on the archer’s face. 

“I prepare my tea here at 9pm sharp. Consider the invitation open.”

Shimada turns and walks away. Jesse stands there and stares after him, somewhat dumbfounded. 

“Also,” the other man adds, glancing over his shoulder. “You may call me Hanzo.”

He disappears into another room, leaving Jesse frozen in the middle of the canteen.

“He normally prepares his evening tea in his private quarters,” Genji calls from his perch above Hana’s shoulder. He doesn’t look at Jesse, which makes the seemingly innocent comment land like a brick. Nothing Genji says innocently is innocent, not ever. 

“Holy Hell,” Jesse groans and leaves the room before the ninja can gather any more ammunition. 

***

The rest of the day passes by in a blur of activity. 

He and Mei spend several hours in the shooting range, eventually joined by Hana who offers Mei pointers as someone who never liked to use her pistol, but was required to do so while her mech self-repaired. 

“You should try some of the games I have,” Hana says, twirling her pink and purple pistol around her finger the way Jesse showed her. 

“Games?” Jesse and Mei both intone at the same time.

She pops her gum. “Yeah, some of the first person shooters, specifically. Or the sims. They can help a lot with hand-eye coordination, if you struggle with that kind of thing. There are ones where you use a normal controller, but I’ve got an early release controller that’s shaped and weighted like a gun to help with actual stance and whatever.”

Jesse shakes his head. “No game’s better than good old fashioned practice at the range, darlin’.” 

Hana rolls her eyes and flips her hair off of her shoulder. “That’s definitely not true. How do you think I got so good? I didn’t practice on any range until after I joined the army. Before then, I just played on console.”

“Simulations can be helpful,” Mei says, and Jesse isn’t even sure if she thinks that’s true, but the scientist is too polite and sweet to say otherwise. 

“You’re just too old to get it, cowboy,” Hana says with a smirk, twirls her gun again, and pretends to holster it. 

“Who the hell you callin’ old? Mei here ain’t even that much younger than me!” 

The bickering continues through the remainder of practice, and Jesse’s thankful for a distraction, honestly. Plus, he likes Hana Song. She’s peculiar and sassy in the way only a teenager who’s been through some shit can be, and he appreciates that she’s not easily cowed. The way she gives as good as she gets, it reminds Jesse a bit of himself, but he was much more of a ruffian growing up, and he’s sure Hana would give him a verbal lashing for the comparison, so he keeps it to himself. 

It’s mid afternoon when Jesse’s finally able to sneak away from the range, and after not eating breakfast, he could eat a horse. He makes himself a quick sandwich and eats it as he walks back to his quarters to do some napping before their meeting at sixteen-hundred hours, but he’s intercepted by Genji before he reaches the safety and solitude of his room. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Genji says, falling into step with him. “We should talk.”

Jesse takes a bite of his sandwich and then offers a saccharine smile, bits of bread stuck to his lips. “I don’t know what about. I’m just eatin’ this here sandwich and mindin’ my own business.” 

“There is no need to play dumb, Jesse.”

“I don’t rightly know whatcha mean.” 

“My brother.” 

Jesse gulps down another bite. “What about ‘em?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“First time for everythin’, I reckon.”

They reach Jesse’s door, but before he can press his palm to the print scanner, Genji steps in front of it, blocking his path.

“Genji, I ain’t in the mood,” he begins, but the cyborg cuts him off.

“Jesse, please.” 

He says it so sincerely that Jesse groans but reaches past Genji, who doesn’t actually move, just tilts his head to the side to allow the other man access. Jesse presses his flesh hand to the scanner. There’s a moment of silence, aside from the hum of Genji’s vents, and then there’s a beep a whooshing sound as the door opens.

“Come on in, I guess,” the cowboy mutters before shoving the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and shouldering past Genji none-too gently. 

Genji follows him in and waits until the door closes behind him before he says, “Thank you. I want to discuss—“ 

“Before we discuss a damned thing, I want the faceplate off.”

Genji laughs. “What? Why?”

“Because you’re down right terrible at a poker face and I got a feelin’ I’m gonna wanna know if you’re lyin’ or not.”

The other man sighs audibly but reaches up to release his vizor. It depressurizes with a dramatic hiss, and Genji removes it and sets it on Jesse’s end table. “Happy?”

“No, but it’s a start.” Jesse leans against his bed post and crosses his arms over his chest. “Now, what is it you wanted t’talk about?”

“I will just get right to it, then. My brother seems to be… well, taken with you.” 

Jesse drags his metal fingers through his hair and contemplates pulling some of it out. “Look, this ain’t a joke, Genji—“ 

“I am not joking!” Genji declares. There is enough fire behind the words to stop Jesse from interrupting again. “Hanzo is a complicated man. I did not even think he would come when I extended the invitation to join Overwatch. He had been alone for nearly a decade, and before that, the Shimada warped and twisted him until he lost himself. I do not think he has found himself, not yet, but he is making the effort, Jesse, so I need you to promise me that you will be gentle.”

Jesse nearly chokes on his own tongue. “Be gentle? What in tarnation are you even takin’ about?” 

“He has never made friends easily, and his time was curated by our father as he got older. Hanzo is…” Genji trails off and leans back against the wall, looking somewhat lost and defeated. “This is more awkward than I feared it would be. Perhaps I should have just left it alone.”

Jesse sits down on the edge of his bed and leans forward, arms draped over his knees. “I’m just surprised is all, Genji. This seems to be comin’ outta no where from where I’m standin’.”

Genji eyes him warily. “I am not surprised. You are always very easy going, so it is easy for those of us with strenuous past relationships to look to you for companionship. You have met no one with Hanzo’s history, though, Jesse. He has been deprived of so much, and I fear for him even if he does not think it is my place. Perhaps it is not, but the fear of losing him is.”

There’s so much to unpack there, but Jesse focuses on what he can grasp. “First, lemme correct ya, ‘cause I haven’t always been this easy goin’. Reyes and I butted heads like a couple o’bulls during the start of Blackwatch. Me and Morrison, too. And you and I didn’t always get along, neither. We were at each other’s throats when we first met. It sounds to me like you n’your brother both got the shit end of the stick with the Shimada, though, so I’d expect he—” 

Genji raises a hand to silence him. “It is not the same. _Hanzo and I_ are not the same. We may have been born from the same parents into the same family, but the similarities end there. When I say his time was curated, I mean it. Hanzo did not have friends. He did not have hobbies. He did not have romantic relationships unless they were _omiai_ — set up by our parents or the elders as a political match — and they never went anywhere. I was the younger son, so my father could allow me certain liberties because duty did not rest on my shoulders. It rested soley on Hanzo’s. They groomed him to be alone because it is easy to control a man who does not have anything but himself to lose, which is why he was even capable of striking me down.”

Genji has never been shy in regards to discussing his brother and their past. He’d been pretty up front about it when he let them know he’d asked Hanzo to join him and Overwatch, and they’d all been hesitant, but Genji was adamant, and who among them didn’t have some skeleton in the closet to contend with? Jesse especially knew what it was like to come back from a dark past. 

This relay of information is different for Genji, though. Jesse can tell by the hiss and puff of his vents that he is worked up. 

“So what are you afraid of, then?” Jesse asks.

Genji winces. “He is taken with you, and… I do not think it is in a completely friendship-bound way.”

They’re both silent. It’s the complete opposite of the silence he enjoys with Fareeha. It’s heavy with meaning, anxiety rippling through it like choppy water. Genji stares down at him, waiting for a reaction. Jesse isn’t sure what his reaction should be because he feels equal parts hopeful and terrified, and the two mix like oil and water for someone like Jesse McCree. 

No point in stalling, though. He takes in a breath and blows it out so his cheeks puff up, then mutters while he scrubs at his face, “Don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

Genji blinks owlishly. “What?”

“Listen,” Jesse says, waggling a finger up at him, but Genji steps forward and swats his hand away. 

“So it’s true. I was wondering if what I’d seen was just wishful thinking, but—” He finally grins, accentuating the same creases at the corners of his eyes that his brother has when he smiles. “You like him, as well.”

Jesse could deny it. Unlike Genji, he can lie when he needs to. He’s been doing it his whole life, and while it leaves a bad taste in his mouth these days, he knows he can spin a tale convincing enough to lead Genji off the scent.

But why? Why lie about it? He’s all but got confirmation that Shimada might feel a similar pull. 

“I don’t rightly know how I feel,” he finally says, settling somewhere in the middle. “I won’t lie to ya and say he doesn’t catch my eye, ‘cause he does. I ain’t prepared to admit more than that, though.” 

Genji still grins like an idiot. “You should tell him.”

_This again._ Jesse groans and flops backwards onto the bed. His hat pops off of his head and rolls along the bedsheets before settling on edge of the mattress like a spun coin. “I ain’t good at this, Genji. Yer scared for him, and you should be. I ain’t got a damned clue what to do. My track record ain’t roses.” 

“Is that what you and Fareeha were whispering about last week?” 

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“So take it slow. Hanzo doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing, either. I’m very sure he has the disadvantage here.” Genji chuckles. “I heard his tea invitation. It was abysmal.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we’re both too old for this shit.”

“You sound like Reyes.”

Jesse snorts and stares up at the ceiling, eyes following the cracks snaking through the old paint. He’d always wanted to be like Reyes when he was younger. It’s a strange feeling, to realize he hopes that ain’t the case now. Reyes had a good thing going and fucked it up beyond all repair because he couldn’t step back and see what he had versus what he wanted. Jesse’s fucked up his fair share of things, too, but he’s tired of hoping for second chances. 

“I’ll meet him for tea, but I ain’t promisin’ anything.” 

“I do not expect you too.”

“And you sure as hell better not be lurkin’ around.”

“I promise, I will not.”

“Does yer brother know ya came to talk t’me?”

“I kindly ask,” Genji says in a very measured tone, “that you do not mention this to him.”

“You’re a downright scoundrel. He’d have your head iffin’ he found out.” Jesse pauses, then sits up and eyes Genji. “That too on the nose for the two o’you?”

Genji snorts. “Perhaps don’t mention such jokes to Hanzo quite yet.”

Jesse reaches for his hat and plops it back on his head. “This is gonna be a right distaster.” 

“Or,” Genji hedges, “it will be just what is needed. As my master says, happiness often comes where we least expect it.”

Jesse won’t hedge his bets. Not yet. He might dare to hope, though. 

***

They meet Lucio Correia dos Santos and Satya Vaswani at their team briefing. The two seem intact and unharmed, though Lena gives him a look when they lock eyes and Jesse nods towards the two, which means he’ll get an earful of a story later. 

Lucio is as energetic as he sounds in his music, all but bouncing as he introduces himself, and Ms. Vaswani is quiet and stoic, sitting ramrod straight in her chair as she studies everyone. Jesse has no doubt they’ll both settle in, but he expects it’ll be a bumpy ride for a while. Not that Overwatch isn’t used to some growing pains. 

“I have another announcement,” Winston adds just as everyone starts to move. “We have word that Soldier: 76 and the Shrike have joined forces in Egypt. For those of you unfamiliar with either vigilante, both have been working separately, but it seems they are now working together to sabotage Talon operations, which means they would be important assets to Overwatch. We will be sending Echo and Genji on a covert, information gathering mission to recover them, or at least extend an invitation, if an opportunity presents itself. They leave in 48 hours.” 

“You didn’t tell me you were going on mission when we spoke earlier,” Jesse hisses at Genji, who just offers him a peace sign. 

“Solider: 76?” Brigitte questions. “Isn’t he the one who looted all of those old Overwatch bases?”

“One and the same,” Winston confirms. 

Fareeha looks skeptical. “How do you know either would be willing to join Overwatch? They have both historically acted alone. The fact that they seem to be working together may just be happenstance, or a trap.” 

“I am familiar with the Shrike,” Hanzo says. “My mercenary work before Overwatch brought me to Egypt a few years ago. They did not strike me as the type to allow happenstance to go unchecked. Swift and precise action is necessary in such a war-torn place. If it seems like happenstance, then I would wager that the Shrike and the Soldier have joined forces.” 

Winston grunts his agreement. “Thank you for your input, Shimada-san. As stated, Echo and Genji will leave in 48 hours.” 

As everyone disperses, Jesse motions for Genji and Echo to remain behind. He’s not surprised when Hanzo does, as well, standing back near the wall so as not to encroach on their space.

“The two o’ya better keep in touch,” Jess says once the room has cleared. “I don’t like, not one bit.”

Echo tilts her head to the side in a very Jesse-eqsue manner. “I have analyzed the data, Jesse, and Winston is correct. They would be an asset to Overwatch.”

Jesse shrugs. “Don’t mean I like it. Somethin’ seems off, the two o’them suddenly joinin’ forces after goin’ lone wolf for so long. You get a feelin’ for these kinda things after workin’ people for so long.”

“I believe McCree-san’s hunch is correct,” Hanzo adds, stepping away from the wall until he stands next to Genji, his expression closed off. “I would approach with caution.”

“We will not be reckless, _anija_ ,” Genji promises. “Information gathering is the top priority. If we have the chance to safely approach, we will. Otherwise, we have orders to return without making contact. It does not help them or us if this is not done tactfully.”

“Last I checked, you ain’t the most tactful person I ever met,” Jesse deadpans. 

Hanzo chuckles under his breath but says nothing. The sound makes Jesse’s stomach clench, and he tries to push his conversation with the younger Shimada out of his mind for the time being with limited success. 

Genji’s head ticks towards Hanzo, which means he caught the laugh, but then he returns his attention to Jesse. They share a tense but short stare before he replies, “Those are strong words coming from a grown man who wears a belt that spells BAMF.” 

“No need to strike below the belt, Genji,” Echo says and then smiles, a dazzlingly bright and sudden change to her facade, before she floats out of the room. 

“That was pretty good,” Jesse admits with a laugh before following her out. 

The sound of bass-heavy, upbeat music, no doubt from Lucio, fills the halls. Genji perks up and follows the sound as a jog, leaving Jesse and Hanzo in his wake.

“When he was young,” Hanzo says, suddenly and without pretext, “Genji regularly visited the clubs. He liked to dance, and he would play his music incredibly loudly late into the night at home. It infuriated our father.”

Jesse laughs. “He used t’do the same shit in the Blackwatch days. Could hear it through the whole Swiss barrack. His music of choice was a might bit angrier then, though.” Jesse realizes what he’s said after it leaves his mouth. He winces and casts a sidelong glance at Hanzo. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Hanzo glances back at him. “For what?”

“That came out more like a jibe than I meant it to.”

“I know my brother must have been angry, back then,” Hanzo says calmly. “He has told me as much himself, and I cannot blame him. He had every right to be. He would have the right now, if he chose to harbor those feelings, and I would still not blame him.” 

Jesse hums thoughtfully and reaches into his pocket to pull out his lighter and carton of cigarillos. He’s been itching for a smoke ever since Winston announced Genji and Echo’s mission, and he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to continue this conversation without one. “We can all only hope to come to the same comfort with ourselves n’ our pasts as Genji, I reckon,” he says as he lights up and inhales. “He’s a clown, but he’s done the work.”

“You have not come to terms with yours?” Hanzo asks.

The smoke trickles out of his mouth as Jesse licks his lips. “Some days I feel like I have, and other days feel a lot less forgivin’.”

Hanzo is silent for the remainder of their walk to the rec room. As expected, Lucio is playing some of his music, with Hana standing behind him, swaying and bouncing on her tip toes. Several of the other Overwatch members, including Genji, Echo, and Lena, are gathered around to enjoy one of the fleeting moments of camaraderie laced with fun. Jesse watches them all laugh and move to the music. 

“I think you’re makin’ a good shot of it,” he finally says to Hanzo.

“Jesse McCree, put out that cigarette this instant!” Angela calls from across the room, hands on her hips as she glares at him. Next to her, Fareeha laughs and waggles her eyebrows, no doubt thrilled to see him and Hanzo standing together. 

The archer asks, “A good shot of what?”

Jesse takes one last drag of the cigarillo and then stubs it out on his cybernetic hand before tucking the remainder back in his pocket for later. He looks down at Hanzo to find the other man staring up at him. He’s got a bone structure to die for, Jesse thinks, unable to stop his eyes from trailing the curve of the other man’s cheekbones.

“Redemption,” he says. The hard planes of Hanzo’s expression soften and he continues to stare up at him thoughtfully.

“You are not what I expected,” Hanzo finally admits. “I did not expect to be able to have such meaningful conversation with such a ridiculous man.”

Jesse grins, and he likes the way Hanzo’s pupils dilate when he does.

“I’m ridiculous? Oh, darlin’. You’re the man with a couple o’dragons he can call for backup and a robot brother.” 

Hanzo scowls and opens his mouth to interrupt, but Jesse doesn’t give him a chance.

“The same man, might I add, who accepted a job from a talkin’ monkey.”

Hanzo blinks and then laughs and turns away. The smile lingers there as he watches Genji spin Angela in circles to the beat of the music.

***

Later that night, Jesse sits in the canteen with Hanzo, a steaming mug of tea in front of him. It smells floral and sweet from the honey he added against the archer’s recommendation. Hanzo had just rolled his eyes. He sits across from Jesse now, both hands wrapped around his own mug, staring off at nothing in particular. He looks wistful and contemplative, but not on edge like he usually does. The angle of his head offers Jesse a profile view and highlights his jawline and the rope of muscle that curves down to his clavicle, where a portion of his tattoo peeks out. 

Jesse didn’t ask for any of this, but here he is, working with some of the only people he’s ever trusted, doing the only work that’s ever made him feel worthy, and falling for a man who turns, finds him staring, and just raises an amused brow.

He takes a sip of his tea and vows to just let things move along how they will because a man like Jesse McCree should never look a gift horse in the mouth.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your support thus far! :)

Jesse is used to surprises. Changing plans feel a lot like breathing these days, so it doesn’t usually affect him all that much. His entire life was one surprise after another, and he’s pretty sure he’s been well enough acquainted with the concept that there isn’t much that could really throw him for a loop.

He’s wrong, of course.

Echo and Genji have been gone on mission for nearly a month, and Winston’s been cagey at best with updates the last two weeks. When Jesse tries to access details in the database, Athena apologizes and tells him he does not have the clearance, which makes Jesse even more aggravated. While he understands that some hierarchy is needed and some things will always be need-to-know, he sure as hell needs to know this. He still has a real bad taste in his mouth after everything that happened in Blackwatch and Overwatch that landed him in the gutter and his friends and comrades scattered to the four corners — if they weren’t dead, that is. 

At first, he tries not to fret too much — he, more than anyone currently on base, is well aware of Echo and Genji’s capabilities. Equal parts intuitive, investigative, and easily intrigued, the A.I. adjusts to situations without a hitch, and Genji is slick enough to get them out of any situation alive. Echo spent enough time with Jesse in their Blackwatch days to have honed in on a bit of Jesse’s charm and easygoing nature, and even if she hadn’t, she’s more than capable of taking care of herself. That didn’t stop Jesse from worrying after nearly two weeks of radio silence, though. 

And then there’s Hanzo. 

He tries to act all tough, but Jesse can see the anxiety stirring within him. He grips his bow at the shooting range until his knuckles are bleached and his palms bruised, like he’s holding on for dear life. His rapport with the other members of the teams suffers from it, too, because Hanzo folds in on himself like a turtle. He’s back to being too stoic, too quiet, too solitary. He’s impenetrable. 

But not with Jesse.

Something’s definitely changed. Hanzo seeks out Jesse’s company and speaks to him more in a week than Jesse’s sure he’s spoken to him in the six previous months. He sits and watches Jesse play video games (badly) with Hana and Lucio, or he joins him at the range to shoot, or he purposely and playfully steals Jesse’s kills during simulation. They drink tea a few nights a week, and now that their both anxious, they sometimes swap whiskey (which Hanzo does not like) and sake (which Jesse does not like), but the companionship is comfortable and the attention makes Jesse feel like a lovedrunk teenager.

That being said, the archer hasn’t made any outwardly romantic gestures, so Jesse still only has Genji’s words to go by. It’s a little disconcerting, not knowing how Hanzo actually feels, because Jesse already feels like he’s on thin ice. The anxiety over Echo and Genji’s silence only makes his desire to touch Hanzo more prominent, and he’s had to stop himself a few times from doing so because he wants to respect the other man’s boundaries. 

So, he does what he’s always done — makes jokes, smokes too many cigarillos, and drinks whiskey to calm his nerves. 

Except now he does it with Shimada Hanzo.

***

It’s late. They sit on one of the rafters overlooking the runway, legs hanging over the edge. Jesse’s legs kick back and forth, but Hanzo’s are still and his back is straight. Always prepared, Jesse thinks and takes a pull from his flask.

He had to really sell Hanzo on coming out here in the dark, to a space that the cameras were just shy of covering. It’s a flaw Jesse’s known about since Blackwatch, but he never said anything back then because he needed somewhere to sneak his cigarillos and booze. He hasn’t said anything about it now because any intruder would be detected by Athena before they made it to any blindspots, and they were few and far between, anyway. He’d wanted the privacy, though, along with the crisp, salt-ladened air. Something about it helps settle his nerves a tiny bit, and they need all the help they can get. 

“I do not like it,” Hanzo finally says, unaffected by the hum of the ocean around the Watchpoint. The wind pushes and pulls at the dark, short locks that are left loose around his face, and the edge of the ribbon that ties his hair brushes against Jesse’s shoulder. 

Jesse wonders what he’d look like with his hair down, but instead of inquiring about it, he asks, “Don’t like what?”

“The silence.” Hanzo flexes his fingers, like he’s itching for his bow. “From Genji. It worries me.”

“Me, too, darlin’,” Jesse sighs. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Winston’d keep anything from us without good reason.”

“I disagree.”

“Oh?”

Hanzo turns to look at him. The artificial lights in the hanger highlight the angles of his face, leaving his eyes shadowed and black. His expression is open, but there’s a grimness there that makes Jesse’s stomach coil.

“I do not doubt Winston would withhold information until absolutely necessary, because I think he very well knows that I would burn it all to the ground,” Hanzo murmurs, not breaking eye contact, barely blinking, “if anything happened to my brother.”

Jesse feels a surge inside of him, and it takes him a few moments to realize it’s jealousy. He’s never had a relationship of any kind where another felt so strongly about his wellbeing. The closest he ever got was Reyes, who pushed Jesse through blood, sweat, and tears to be better and useful. Except someone already had Reyes’ full attention. No one could measure up to Morrison. And then there was Ana, but Fareeha always came first, just as she should’ve. Jesse was just some punk kid who needed to be set straight, but Fareeha was her daughter. There was a reason the saying was that blood was thicker than water. 

Jesse nearly laughs.

Hanzo notices the change in his expression and his eyebrows drop. “What is it? Does this upset you, my lack of loyalty to Overwatch without my brother here?”

Jesse could lie, but he feels raw, and he doesn’t think he’d do a good job of it. Plus, he doesn’t want to lie to Hanzo, and he has a feeling the other man will understand. “Not at all. I’m well aware that you’re here for Genji first n’ foremost. I ain’t never had that, is all. Someone who would raise hell on earth if I gave up the ghost. I’m a might bit envious.”

Hanzo looks somewhat shocked, which is a new look on him that Jesse finds he quite likes. The other man blinks a few times, lips parted slightly, and then shakes his head. “That surely isn’t true.”

“It is, unfortunately.” Jesse shrugs, trying to brush away some of the levity of the conversation without much luck. “I didn’t run with the best o’ crowds in my early days. Loyalty was never a big trait in the Deadlocks, n’ things were already so tense when I got dragged into Blackwatch kickin’ n’ screamin’ because of Talon’s attacks on Overwatch. And then, it all blew up.”

“But you worked with your team for a while, did you not?” 

Jesse wishes with a jolt of regret he hadn’t left his hat behind. He runs his hand through his hair and immediately thinks that Genji would point it out as a nervous tick if he were here, but he isn’t. 

“I was mighty angry in those days. Plus, I was a washed up member of the Deadlocks. There was a reason I was tossed with Blackwatch n’ not Overwatch. Even Genji and I were at each others throats in the beginnin’.”

Hanzo looks skeptical. “I do not believe that.”

“It’s true, darlin’. We were all angry at the world. There was just too much history and violence, y’know? Never a chance to form them kinda bonds, not really. Friendships? Sure. I got lotsa friends. That’s meager compared to what yer talkin’ ‘bout, though.” Jesse scrubs at his face with a sigh. “I mean, when Overwatch imploded, I made myself hard to find, but not that hard to find, not for the crowd I was runnin’ with, n’ no one came.”

Hanzo is silent, but continues to watch him. His expression’s smoothed out and indecipherable. Jesse feels like he’s up against Genji’s faceplate, in a way. He looks away because he’s already at a disadvantage simply by admitting his longing, and now he’s gotta contend with Hanzo’s poker face when he knows his own isn’t up to par right now. He feels sick, actually, like everything in his stomach has gone sour.

“McCree-san,” Hanzo says, then corrects himself. “Jesse.”

It’s the first time Hanzo’s used his first name. Jesse’s been badgering the other man to drop the honorifics and last name, to refer to him more casually, but Hanzo had been stubborn even though he’d told Jesse to call him by his given name. 

He turns towards Hanzo, surprised. 

“You are the first friend I have made in a very long time,” Hanzo says solemnly. “I am not the type of man to admit to such things often, but please know that I cherish this. It is perhaps a strange notion to someone like you, who makes friends so easily. I do not. I have never shared Genji’s propensity for socializing and I did not care to try after I left the Shimada. It was easier to be alone. I deserved it. I am glad that I have you now, however, and I would raise hell in your honor if you were injured or worse.” 

Hanzo’s admission is so heartfelt and sincere that Jesse can only stare at him, eyes wide. His face feels hot but his hands are shaking a bit in his lap. He grasps his flask with both of them to minimize the jittering. It barely helps. His heart thuds and he knows, in that moment, that he loves Shimada Hanzo.

“You,” he starts gruffly, but then clears his throat and licks his lips. After a few seconds more of silence, and finally manages, “Means a lot, Hanzo. I ain’t sure what to say, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Hanzo studies him, his eyes sweeping across Jesse’s face. “You do not have to say anything,” he replies. “I did not admit this to you hoping you would reciprocate. I merely wanted you to know—”

“Oh, I reciprocate,” Jesse says on an exhale with a nervous laugh, then hangs his head so his hair can cover his face a bit. “Please don’t misread my bumblin’.”

He glances to the side again just as Hanzo smiles softly. “I am happy to hear that.”

Jesse could tell him right now. The light is dim, the mood is set, and Hanzo’s face isn’t that far away from his. He could tell him that he thinks he loves him, that he would probably raise hell on heaven and earth for him, that he hasn’t felt like this for another person in a long time. That he feels like he’s bumbling around in the dark and is afraid he’ll fuck it up, because he’s good at that. 

But he doesn’t. He can’t, not yet. Not when Genji is missing and both of their emotions are getting away from them. A part of him knows it would scare Hanzo away, too, and he’d rather live with the pain of unrequited love than lose this.

“For what it is worth,” Hanzo adds, “I believe Genji would fight for you now. My being here is evidenced of his strength and resolve. He obviously cares for you a great deal.”

Jesse stares down at the toes of his boots, thankful for the strange light and hopeful that it hides the blush that’s no doubt crept up his cheeks. 

“You’re pretty sentimental, when ya get goin’,” he finally says jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. 

Hanzo huffs his obvious displeasure at the statement. 

Jesse just grins and glances back at the other man. “Genji’s gonna’s wanna hear this when he comes back.” Hanzo’s expression shutters at that, and Jesse is quick to respond. “And he is gonna come back, Hanzo. I know it in my bones. Shimada Genji ain’t one to roll over easily. You of all people should know that, after what y’all been through. He _will_ come back.” 

Hanzo doesn’t say anything. He looks out over the hanger, and Jesse isn’t sure if it’s a play of the strange light or not, but the archer looks almost sad. A few strands of hair have escaped his ribbon. Hanzo reaches up automatically to tuck them behind his ear. Jesse feels a sudden, damn near visceral urge to be able to do the same to him. 

“I hope you are right.”

“Me, too, darlin’,” he murmurs, and gently knocks his shoulder into Hanzo’s. 

After a moment, Hanzo repeats the gesture. When Jesse hands him the flask, he takes it, deftly unscrewing the cap before taking a hefty swig. His face scrunches up a bit. “Your taste in alcohol is atrocious.”

Jesse chuckles and reaches into his pocket for his cigarillos. He lights one and takes a deep breath in, the burning ash at the tip flaring to life before dimming again.

They sit there until the sun comes up, occasionally talking but mostly just enjoying the company, then silently stand and make their way back towards the barrack hall. 

“Maybe I won’t sleep,” Jesse muses. “Drink a bunch o’coffee to fuel me up and go about the day.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes. “That is a terrible idea.”

“You think I can’t do it? I used to do it all the damned time.”

“This is not a competition, Jesse.”

He feels giddy, hearing Hanzo use his name again. He assumes it’ll make him feel this way for a while. “Everything’s a competition, darlin’.” 

“When was the last time you pulled an 'all-nighter', as Hana calls it? Ten years ago?” Hanzo scoffs. “You’re too old to forgo sleep.”

Jesse turns towards him with a laugh. “You callin’ me old, Han? Last I checked, you were older than me.”

“Are you calling me old?”

Before Jesse can reply, he hears the patter of quick footsteps, and before he can even warm Hanzo, Lena appears in front of them in a flash of blue. Her face is flushed, and her hair is a mess.

“Hot damn, Lena. What’s gotten into ya? Everythin’ alright?”

“They’re back.” Relief floods her expression and she beams, a smile taking over her entire face. “Bloody hell, but they’re back.”

“We just came from the hanger,” Jesse says stupidly, eyes wide. “Not even fifteen minutes ago.”

She jogs in place giddily, hands clenched into fists near her chest. “They just landed!”

Hanzo turns around and takes off, sprinting down the hall. 

Jesse and Lena stare after him. 

“Guess we should follow him,” Lena says, then disappears in another flash.

Jesse huffs, but jogs his way back to the hanger. 

Genji and Echo are already out of the jet, and Hanzo has his hands on Genji’s shoulders, gripping so tightly his knuckles are white. The relief on his face blows Lena’s out of the water, and it’s probably the most emotion he’s shown in front of any of them, Jesse included. Jesse feels that pang again, that piercing loneliness and longing, but he shoves it down. 

Winston, Lena, and Angela are there, too, which makes sense, but Jesse can immediately tell something is off. He’s good at reading body language, and yet Hanzo is the only one who seems excited now. Lena is considerably dimmed compared to earlier, with her eyebrows drawn together and her lips pursed. Winston, too, is more tense than usual, and Angela’s eyes are glassy. 

It’s the last one that really gets him. Angie’s comfortable with emotion, but she rarely cries. 

He walks up to them and stops, raising one eyebrow. He tries to play it cool, but there’s an edge to his voice that he can’t keep out. “What’s goin’ on?”

“You’re never wake up this early,” Winston comments, seemingly confused and unprepared to see Jesse awake and mobile at this hour.

Jesse offers a grim smile. “I haven’t slept yet. Too anxious to know these two were alive.” 

Genji spots him and stiffens, then leans towards Hanzo to say something quietly enough that Jesse can’t hear him. Hanzo stands a little straighter, the conflicted expression on his face morphing until it’s unreadable.

Oh, no. Jesse doesn’t like this one bit. There’s something going on, and he’s tired of being left out. He pins a glare on Winston, taking another step towards him, and growls, “What in the hell is goin’ on?”

“Jesse.”

He turns to find Genji standing beside him. The cyborg removes his faceplate. His expression is… Jesse can’t read it, either. There are red flags aplenty right now, but more than anything, that sets the real alarm bells off. He expects Hanzo to be able to school his expression, but Genji doesn’t do that, not well. Not unless there’s shit about to go down and he’s steeled himself. 

“Genji, what the fuck—” 

“Allow Hanzo to take you back to your room. We must debrief before we can explain what happened. I know you are angry, rightfully so, and I am sorry that we worried you, but for now, please allow us time to prepare the information we have gathered. It will be best for everyone.”

Jesse clenches and unclenches his fits at his side, his ire rising. “You’re makin’ it sound like real bad information, partner, and I been left in the dark for too damned long already.”

“Jesse, please,” Genji tries again, but he’s interrupted. 

“Let him stay. He finds out now or in a few hours. Either way, there will be fireworks.”

Jesse freezes, and the cyborg looks down, his features morphing into a wince. Jesse doesn’t care. Everything around him fades away until it’s just him and that voice. A voice he hasn’t heard in years, but he’ll never forget the accent, the lilt, the raspiness. 

He was honest when he told Hanzo he never shared some intense bond with anyone before, but he’d lied a little bit, not because he meant to, but because one-sidedness didn’t really hold much weight in the conversation. He may not have trusted anyone to mourn him the same way Hanzo would mourn Genji, with fire and brimstone and all, but that wasn’t to say he wouldn’t have thrown himself into grief for someone else. That he hadn’t already. There were very few names on that list, but that list did exist.

Ana Amari was one of those names, and until right this moment, Jesse had assumed her dead. 

He’d raged when she died because she was the closest thing to a maternal figure he’d had in a long time. Despite his bad attitude and his cocksure way of approaching everything, she’d taken him under her wing and whipped him into shape. Even more than Reyes, she always had his best interest at heart, not because he was a tool, but because he was a person. She taught him to shoot, and more importantly, she taught him patience. Before Captain Amari, Jesse had the skill and a lot of it, but he didn’t have the focus. He didn’t have the dedication. 

Reyes forced him to be better. Ana made him _want_ to be better. 

Slowly, he turns around. 

Ana stands there, Shrike helmet tucked under one arm and rifle slung onto her back. Her hair is still long and even more silver, twisted into her signature braid and draped over her shoulder. She looks nearly the same, except for the patch covering her right eye. 

“Hello, Jesse McCree. It is good to see you again.”

He swallows, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. He has so many questions, so many things he wants to say, but he knows there’s a room full of people watching them, and this is one of those fits he needs to have in private. The weight of his flask in his pocket screams to him, and he wishes he could take a swig. Instead, he deflects a different way. “Fareeha’s gonna have your hide, y’know.”

Ana’s smile flickers. “I am aware, and I expect no less.”

“I think I’ve got everything, Amari.” 

A silver-haired man steps off the jet, hefting three large duffle bags and shouldering a pulse rifle. He’s dressed like Solider: 76, but he isn’t wearing a helmet. It only takes a split second for Jesse to look past the scars striping his face and pinpoint a name that belongs to those baby blues. 

He pulls out the flask, unscrews it with surprisingly steady hands, and downs the remainder of the whiskey. 

“I see some things don’t change,” Jack Morrison comments gruffly. 

“Jack,” Ana says warningly. 

“Maybe cut me a bitta slack, _Commander_ ,” Jesse snaps. “I didn’t expect one ghost, let alone two.”

Ana and Jack give each other a look, and it’s barely anything, but Jesse _knows_ that look, and he suddenly feels sick. The blood rushes away from his face, leaving him clammy, but his heartbeat thuds in his chest and ears and head until he feels like he might actually throw up. He grips the flask until it bites into the palm of his hand to ground himself. He hopes he’s misreading it, even though he’s sure he’s not, and the way grimness radiates off of both of them just solidifies it. 

“You’re not sayin’,” he starts, but can’t bring himself to finish. 

Ana smiles sadly. “There is a lot we should discuss.”


End file.
